Shutters
by Acteon Carolsfeld
Summary: Cyclogate. Sometimes catching a glimpse of happiness takes some work, as Tailgate finds out through numerous misadventures trying to make Cyclonus smile.


Disclaimer: Do not own MTMTE.

**Warning**: Silly humour; bots being stupid; hurried edit

* * *

Prompt by ahintofblue on Tumblr:

_Cyclonus/Tailgate - 5 Different Ways to Make Cyclonus Smile, the 5th time it actually works._

* * *

**Shutters**

"I just—…I just want to see it, you know? Just _once_, I want to see him happy."

Surrounded by his friends, Tailgate curled over the edge of the bar, and rubbed the side of his glass with his fingers. The condensation was a cool spread of liquid against the tips of his digits, and he watched it bead, chin resting on the counter. The highgrade had been chilled just right, with a thick layer of crystal foam just spilling over the rim. Swerve had been generous with Tailgate's order, knowing the little blue bot needed it.

"How do you know he _isn't_ happy, Tailgate?" Rung sipped on his skinny glass on a tall stem, and tilted his helm toward the disposal unit.

Tailgate shrugged. "That's the thing. I _don't_ know." He stopped his fiddling, and rested his chin on his laced fingers. "How am I supposed to know if he doesn't show or tell me at all?"

Rung's brows furrowed. Just as he was about to speak, Skids cut in, leaning over the psychotherapist and effectively muffling the lankier mech with his chassis.

"Well have ya _asked_ 'im?" The theoretician burst out in a shout, optics unfocused and bright as he smacked the bar counter with one hand while holding a sloshing cube with the other.

"No…" Tailgate curled further inward. "I'd rather him show it than me having to ask…"

"Sorry to be the one to break it to ya, little guy, but ya can't blame the mech for not knowin' what'chu want if ya don't tell 'im, y'know." Blaster held up a hand, index finger pointing at the ceiling.

Tailgate glanced up, wondering what he was pointing at.

"I think you should just be yourself." Rung finally managed to encourage a certain drunken theoretician to sit back in his seat. Encourage by shoving. "That should be enough to make him smile." The psychotherapist nodded, lips lifting in reassurance.

Tailgate looked down. "Well, I've been myself since I started rooming with him, and it clearly isn't working." He grumbled, visor dim.

"The time will come." Rung patted the little blue bot on the back. "Perhaps you just haven't noticed."

Tailgate folded his arms tighter around each other. "I don't know…" He frowned.

"Frag _that_." Swerve piped up from behind the counter, throwing down a towel. "Bein' yourself _never_ works. _I_ would know." He said, for once perhaps as inebriated as his customers were. "Here's what you gotta do, alright?" He leaned closer, one shoulder forward. "This _never_ fails to make bots laugh at the bar…" He whispered to the disposal unit, who perked up with a flash of his visor.

* * *

"So, a bot walks into a bar," Tailgate turned on his side, and scooted to the edge of his berth as he peered through the dark at his suite-mate, "looking all mopey and right away orders a _whole pint_ of knocker highgrade."

Cyclonus onlined his optics, and met his excited gaze with a dimmed one of his own.

Good. The purple mech was engaged.

"_Then_, he starts ranting on and on about how lousy a spark-mate he's got," The little bot chattered on, "until the bartender says: '_Y'know, I don't understand what you're complainin' about_'." His visor flashed brighter, "'_All the _other_ bots here only have _compliments_ about your spark-mate_'!"

Wait for it…

Wait…

Silence.

Cyclonus stared.

Tailgate blinked.

"…No? Uh-Uhhm…" The Autobot fretted.

"Ok, here's another one:

"A bot walks into a bar." The disposal unit began, a little flustered, "He sits down, and orders a cube, then another, then another, until finally, the bartender asks him to leave."

Cyclonus turned his helm, slowly, by inches.

"He walks out the side door. A few kliks later, walks in the front, sits down, and orders a drink. The bartender asks him to leave again, so he gets up, walks out the side door, and comes back through the front door and is, yet again, asked to leave." The visor met the pair of glowing, red optics, agape, expectant. "This keeps happening for about eight more times, and on the ninth, the bot exclaims: '_How many bars do you work in, mech_'?!"

Punch-line.

Laughter!

Except…

Cyclonus's expression did not change in the slightest. If anything, the downward arc of his lips seemed to deepen.

"O—Ohh…I guess that one _was_ a little stupid…" Tailgate shrank a little under the militant's stare, but he was not deterred. Swerve told him so many awesome jokes that had the whole _bar_ clutching their stomachs!

"A bot walks into a bar," He tried once more, "and the bartender asks, '_Hey, how's it goin_'?'"

This one was _bound_ to get a reaction!

"The bot says: '_Alright, I suppose. Holding my own_.'. '_That's good_,' the bartender replies," The little bot leaned forward, "'_Cause you'd get _Prowled_ if you held someone _else's!'"

Yes?

Yes?

…No…?

Cyclonus continued to stare.

This time, the downward arc of his lips did grow deeper.

"Recharge, Tailgate." He let out a grunt, and turned to face the ceiling. "You've been getting familiar with wrong company." He offlined his optics, and missed the crestfallen curl of the small Autobot's frame.

* * *

"-and I didn't even get to tell the one about the _electron_ yet!" Tailgate wailed, and face-planted onto the bar with a dramatic flop.

"The electron?" Perceptor frowned, words lacking its usual crisp as he swayed in his seat.

"Yeah," Swerve said, "Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar. One says: '_I lost my electron_'. The other says: '_You sure_'? The first goes: '_Yeah, I'm positive_'."

As the resident scientist lost his cogs over the joke, the bartender turned toward the little blue bot. "Really? _None_ of those worked?" He asked. "_Damn_. Those were my best ones."

"What am I going to _do_?" Tailgate groaned. "It's _hopeless_."

"Why not compliment him a little?" Blaster threw an arm around the small bot's shoulders. "Y'know, say somethin' nice." He shrugged, "Strategic placement of a little flattery can go a loooong way, mech."

Tailgate sighed, and lifted his faceplate from the counter. "I donno, Blaster…I'm not _like_ you." He murmured, chin sitting on the edge of the bar. "I don't _have_ a voice that makes mechs cream themselves."

There was collective silence over the bar. Bots glanced at each other, unsure how to carry on after such a statement.

"…_Anyways_!" Swerve blurted out, tossing a towel over a shoulder. "Blaster's right. Cyclonus is the only Decepticon on a ship _full_ of Autobots—"

"He's not a Decepticon." Tailgate protested. He was ignored.

"-So he's _bound_ to get tired of insults hurled his way."

The disposal unit frowned. "He's getting picked on?"

"It's _gotta_ make 'im happy to hear somethin' nice once in a while." Swerve went on without pause, "Couple that with some homemade energon treats? You'll get 'im grinny and snuggly in no time!"

"Wow, I never thought of it that way before, but you're right!" The little blue bot perked up, "Energon treats _do_ make everything better." He tapped his index fingers together as he hummed in thought. "I don't have a baking unit, though…"

Swerve blew a breath from his vents. "I got you covered, mech!" He dismissed the worry with a wave, "There's one right here in the bar. I just never use it."

"Really?" Tailgate's visor widened. "Can I really use it?"

"Of course!

"Oh thank you! _Thank you_!" The disposal unit bounced in his seat. "Cyclonus is gonna _love_ this."

* * *

Cyclonus stood at the door, one brow ridge jerking as his optics glowed from the dark hollows of their sockets.

"_What_…" He growled through gritted dentae, "…in _Cybertron's name_…" His claws clenched, "…is _going on_ here?!"

Tailgate looked up from the floor, covered in half congealed goo, and let out a tiny whimper.

The larger mech took a full sweep of their hab-suite. Then another.

"_What_," He let out a blast of heated air through his vents, "_precisely_," He bit out, "are you trying to _accomplish_?"

Tailgate glanced about, and tried to hide the smoking baking unit behind his aft.

He cowered when red pinpricks of pure rage zeroed in on his huddled frame, and held up his small hands in a gesture of surrender.

"H-Hey, Cyclonus…!" He squeaked, risking a fleeting look at the militant's shadowed faceplate. "Might I say…" He straightened a little, and sat on his peds, "You pelvic plating looks exceptionally bedazzled today!"

* * *

"You said _what_?" Blaster winced. "Aw mech, why'd you say _that_?"

"I don't _know_!" Tailgate clutched his faceplate, "I saw it in a movie! And—oh Primus I should've just stayed in that hole I fell into."

"Hey, uhh, at least he's still rooming with ya," Swerve grimaced, and tapped his digits against the little blue bot's shoulders in a tentative pat. "I'm still tryin' ta find a bot."

"Yeah…" The disposal unit stared at his lap, posture wilted, "But he isn't talking to me at all…"

"Maybe you should see this as an opportunity," Skids sipped on his cube. "He strikes me as the type who talks little but has a lot to say." The theoretician sloshed a gulp of highgrade in his mouth as he thought, and swallowed when his optics brightened in a flash. "That's it! You should write him a note!"

"A note?" Tailgate asked, helm tilting up.

"Yeah!" Skids grinned, "Like a letter, telling him how you feel."

"I—…I don't know…" The smaller bot went back to his sulky slouch. "Everything I've tried so far only made things worse…"

"Trust me: there's no way this can fail." The bigger Autobot wrapped an arm around Tailgate, and gave him a gentle squeeze. "I'm a theoretician, remember?" He winked an optic, to which the disposal unit returned with a skeptical, but hopeful look.

* * *

Cyclonus keyed open the door to his shared hab-suite with Tailgate, the tension in his shoulders easing upon finding it free of disaster. However, his brow ridges dipped, and the edges of his optics pinched in a slight narrow when he found the chamber empty, devoid of excited chatter upon the opening of the door. The purple mech was just about to stride in when he noticed a data pad on the floor, its placement too neat to have been dropped by accident. Suspicious, he knelt down, and picked it up.

The screen activated upon his touch. EM-field sensitive. It would appear that this datapad was addressed specifically to him. Even more suspicious now, the militant looked up and down the hall. He was alone. He narrowed his optics at the datapad, and, with a swift tap, clicked the "Read".

"_Dear—…uhh…_

"_Hi, Cyclonus! It's-…It's Tailgate._"

Vocal transcription message.

It was all the rage back in the days before someone finally realized how stupid the idea was when there was a thing called the Comm.s.

"_Well, I just…I just feel really bad about trashing our hab-suite, and you having to clean it up with me even when it was all my fault, so I decided—_

"…

"_Are you sure this is a good idea?_"

Cyclonus frowned.

"_Ok! Ok! No need to push…Yeah I'll just—…Hey! It's still on! Uhh…Oh well. This thing doesn't erase, does it._

"_Anyways, I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your help, 'cause I would've never thought to clean under the berth, and the energon will just stay there and end up stinking up our place. That would've _really_ sucked. We wouldn't be able to hold Movie Night if our room smelled like the morgue._

"…_What?_

"_What do you _mean_—I _wasn't_ trying to be funny. It was just a statement! Don't—Don't—_"

The purple mech gave his vision a slow shutter.

"_Ok, sorry. But yeah, that really meant a lot, and-and it got me thinkin', y'know, about how you always save me, and, I guess, I guess what I really wanna say is—…just—…well…_

"_Thank you, Cyclonus. Thank you._"

Cyclonus's optics flickered.

"_You're my best friend. You're the best roommate! You're just—…all around _so cool_. I would've never even _fathomed_ back when I was a disposal—uhhh, yeah, before I got trapped in that hole, that I'd get to meet someone like you. I mean, usually bots like you just ignore me, but you picked me up. You let me hang around. You even taught me songs, and—and I really enjoy your company, _especially_ when you teach me songs._

"_You might not realize, but when you sing, it's like you become a whole different person. Your optics glow brighter. Your shoulders spread. You always look so passionate about your singing, and that really moves people. It really moves _me_._

"…_When you sing…it makes me think of Cybertron. Of _home_. I mean, I didn't have much back then, but there's just nothing like flopping down on your berth after a long shift at work…Sitting back with a cube of chilled mid-grade while surfing the channels._

"…_The fans whirring away on a hot night. Neighbours laughing, 'cause the walls were thin. Light from the…neon billboards, streaming through the window, through the blinds. That was the life. Simple life. Good life. Your singing reminds me of that, and…and when things get crazy, it's always your singing I think of. It always makes me feel better._"

Cyclonus's digits twitched around the data-pad. The constant hum of his engines softened, and the clench in his shoulders eased. His optics dimmed, the purse of his brows smoothing. His lips parted a little, followed by the quick blink of optical shutters.

"_I'm really happy to be your friend. Really lucky too, 'cause I know you don't like to have a lot of friends._"

The militant let out a snort.

"_The-The…you know…_that_, is really nice too. When we, uhh…y'know, do _that_ together. That's _really_ nice. I really like that. But I think, beyond that, I like being your friend too. The most, actually. 'Cause I don't wanna assume anything about us, and—...and…_

"…_It just means a lot that you'd put up with me, because I like you. A lot._"

Cyclonus felt his optics widen.

"_You_…

"…_are the one bot I've ever wanted to give innermost energon to. The only bot I _will_ ever want to give it to, if we can be together for that long._"

His intakes stalled.

"_You always look amazing. That whole rugged warrior thing is _really_ goin' for ya! But if you ever wanna get a polish, I can dig that too. I can even help you! I give one pit of a back rub._"

His vents huffed.

It would've been laughter had it come from another mech.

"_And I really like your singing._

"_Oh, I talked about that already, didn't I._

"_I also love it when you get serious about things, especially when you tell stories. The Old Legends? Those are my favourite! The way your optics focus as you tell them?_

"_That's just _dreamy_ to me._"

Cyclonus grunted, and shifted on his peds as he glanced away.

"_I love the horn on your helm._"

There was heat gathering behind his cheekplates.

"_I love how chiseled your features are._"

His spark was doing something strange. Like fluttering strange.

"_Nothing gets me revved more than seeing you stretch every morning after you wake up. I know you think I'm still in recharge, but I'm always peeking. Sorry about that_…"

Oh he knew. He knew Tailgate always watched.

That was partly why he did it in the first place.

"_I can't believe, out of every bot on this ship, that I'm the one fortunate enough to be with you, and that you'd _want_ me to be with you._"

Of course.

"_You're like the star clouds to me. And you _know_ how much I love to watch those._"

Oh, he knew.

Cyclonus felt the murmur of a chuckle tickle at his vocalizer.

"_I guess…I guess what I'm saying is_…"

The militant felt his vents falter.

"_What I _really_ want to say is_…"

His claws clenched around the edge of the data-pad.

"…_I want to see you _happy_._"

His spark skipped a beat.

"_I want to see you happy, because there isn't anything in the entire universe more important than your happiness, to me._"

There was…a strange tugging at the corner of his lips.

"_It doesn't even matter how I feel about you, even if it's a lot._"

It was getting stronger.

"Especially_ if it's a lot, 'cause I care about you, so I want to see you happy. Above everything else, that makes me the happiest._"

Was this—

"_I really like you, Cyclonus._"

-what it felt like to want to-

"_If you want, i-if you don't mind, that is…_"

-smile?

"…_Would you like to be my_—"

"-Move over a bit. I can't get the best angle!"

Cyclonus froze.

"S-Stop _pushing_. I'm gonna fall over!"

"Alright, just—…oh, there. Better." A pause. "Huh. He isn't smiling anymore. Well, getting there. I wonder what—oh slag! He's looking this way!"

Any inkling of an urge to smile disappeared like the passing of wind. Cyclonus glared down the hall, at the junction to a crossing corridor, where two little frames huddled, parts of arms and legs poking out. They were still whispering to each other, as though the purple mech could not hear. Claws dug into the sides of the data-pad, and shadows hooded the militant's optics, sockets darkening to black.

The data-pad was hurled across the hall.

It hit the wall, and bounced back, clattering across the floor as the jet-former stormed forward, optics pinpricks of rage.

"Oh slag. Oh slag oh slag oh slag—" There was a beep, and the little camera lens blinked offline. "He's coming this way! Run, Tailgate! Run!"

"B-But—"

"_Run_!"

A stuttering chorus of small peds pattering away.

Cyclonus snapped around the corner.

It was empty.

His fists tightened.

He swirled around, and, as he strode back toward his hab-suite, paused beside the data-pad.

With a hard stomp, it cracked, sparking.

The screen shattered, and pieces of glass littered over the floor as the large mech walked away.

* * *

"Aww that was _so close_!" Swerve threw up his arms and exclaimed. "Why'd you have to go about ruinin' it!"

"Quit complaining." Rewind shut down his projector. "You wouldn't even _see_ this if I weren't there."

"He's _never_ gonna talk to me _now_." Tailgate let out a sob, and rubbed the bottom of his visor. It was damp. "He _hates_ me." The little blue bot whimpered, and hid his faceplate in his arms, crossed on the counter.

"Why were you even _there_?" Chromedome frowned at his endura. "Cyclonus was fragged off. What if something bad happened?"

"You worry too much." Rewind took a sip of his drink. "I stumbled into Tailgate sneaking off somewhere." He shrugged. "Got curious, so I tagged along."

"You insisted, didn't you."

"I _persuaded_ him to let me come with so he'll always have video proof that his hard-worn battle-mech of a lover is actually _capable_ of something like _smiling_."

"So you insisted."

Rewind shrugged again. "Whatever word you wanna use, Domey."

"Y'know what we should do?" Whirl piped up from the other end of the bar. "Somethin' he won't expect, and I know _just_ what." He raised his cube, highgrade sloshing. "Who's with me?" His optic pinched to a crescent. "I promise it's gonna be good."

"Eh, why not?" Skids grinned from his seat, and raised his cube as well. "Operation Smilin' is a go!" He tossed back the cube, and almost threw himself off his stool.

"Oh this I _gotta_ see." Rewind raised his hand to the side of his helm. "I'm storing this in my encrypted hard-drive."

Chromedome sighed. "Well, if you're going, then I'm going too." He finished his glass. "_Some_one has to make sure you don't get yourself killed."

"Guys? I don't know if this is such a good idea…" Tailgate lifted his helm, but his tiny blurb of a voice was ignored.

With just enough pompous gesturing, the whole bar joined up in "Operation Smiling". A crowd of drunken Autobots spilled into the hall, and following them was panicking Tailgate, trying in vain to get them back into the bar.

"Chill, little guy. This' all for you!" Somebot the disposal unit didn't even recognize said, brushing him off with a lazy wave.

"This isn't for me at all!" Tailgate cried out, flustering behind the determined group. "C'mon, you guys, stop it! Let's just go back to the bar!"

Nobody listened.

Busy with his fretting, the little blue bot completely forgot about the fact that he could simply comm. Cyclonus, and the entire incident would've been easily avoided.

* * *

There wasn't much to do around the _Lost Light_ for a mech like Cyclonus. The training arena was constantly filled with Autobots with nothing to back up their bravado with. The bar was similar. The archives were off-limits to an "ex-Con", and the shooting range? He only went there if he wanted to punch trouble in the jaw.

He didn't feel like punching anyone on this particular cycle, so he went on a walk instead, keeping to the quieter hallways to avoid company.

Deep in his thoughts he was, the jet-former didn't notice the shadows stalking after him at all. If he had been paying attention to his surroundings, he might have heard the muffled snickers and the light scraping of peds against the floor. With his processors preoccupied, he was practically defenseless, sensors drawn to himself instead of keeping track of the air currents around him. He didn't realize he was not alone until a foreign EM field barged in against his own, and a pair of arms clamped around his torso.

"Got 'im!"

Suddenly, mechs jumped out all around him, grabbing onto his limbs and throwing him to the floor.

Cyclonus thrashed. He clawed quite a few bots in the faceplate. He'd even managed to shoot someone in the stomach before his arms were pinned down, yet still he fought, optics blazing and vents roaring as he struggled against his captors.

The fact that these Autobots seemed to mean him no immediate harm became apparent after several breems of the purple mech yanking on his arms and kicking his legs. He gritted his dentae, and looked over the ring of faceplates hovering above him, most of which he did not recognize. So, this was not personal. They only wanted to mess with him because they still believed he was a Con. That hypothesis lasted until his optics zoomed in on one single faceplate, or lack thereof, that he'd sworn to tear open. Everything suddenly made sense. He just didn't think the ex-Wrecker would be such a coward as to recruit all of his friends.

"_You_." He hissed.

"Yep! Me, me, me." Whirl chirped, and clicked his pincers. "Except this time, it ain't me." He quirked his helm. "It's all about _you_! Well, your cooperation. _And_ your little squeeze."

Ice filled the jet-former's spark chamber. His joints froze in tension, and his optics widened, a chill spreading throughout his frame.

"…What did you do to him." He demanded, gaze steeled.

"Nothing." The copter blinked, and turned around to wave. "Bring 'im. C'mon. Hurry up!" And within moments, Tailgate was nudged into view, helm ducked and hands fidgeting with one another.

The little bot glanced, visor dimmed with shame.

Cyclonus felt his spark grow cold, even more so than before. "…Tailgate?" He spoke, voice soft and breathy, "What…What is the meaning of this?"

Betrayal should not have been a shock. It happened frequently in war, and Cyclonus knew to watch his back. However, he would've never thought it could have come from one so naïve and oblivious, one who knew no war. Though, he thought, he really should've known better. It was always the least likely. The one…the _only one_ he thought he could let his guard down around.

And now, he was going to pay the price.

Perhaps there was poison in the energon being brought to him, a slow death seeping into his systems through the stream of life. Perhaps he had already been infected with a virus, transferred into his central systems while he recharged, and it was a mere strand of code from completion, from crippling his functions. The possibilities were endless, yet even still, nothing could beat the stabbing of hurt deep inside his core. He'd _sung_ for this little bot. He's never sung for anyone before.

"I—I'm sorry, Cyclonus. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." Tailgate shrivelled under his gaze, voice a wavering whimper. "I told them to stop. I tried. I really did, but…they wouldn't listen to me!"

Cyclonus's brows furrowed.

"…Why?" He asked, chassis heaving.

"I…I just…" The disposal unit was on the verge of bursting into tears. "…I just wanted to see you smile!"

Cyclonus froze.

Wait.

What?

"You heard 'im, boys!" Whirl burst into a battle-cry, and swept his arm wide in dramatics. "Show the purple Decepticon all you've got!"

Before Cyclonus could figure out what the frag was going on, hands descended from all direction, cutting off the light from the ceiling lamps. The jet-former bit his jaws, and squeezed his optics shut. He prepared himself for a messy, gruesome deactivation, intakes held and claws clenched.

Fingers curled around his sides, under his arms, and around his neck. Digits dug into the seams of his plating, and—

…They…just...

Stayed there.

And…

…_wiggled_.

…What?

Cyclonus frowned.

What was going on?

What were they doing?

Was this torture? Because it sure as the pits was uncomfortable, but it was not anywhere near the level of pain the warrior could take.

Then, a spear of sensation.

A finger wormed its way against sensitive wiring.

Cyclonus hissed, and his optics flashed online, alarm apparent in the sharp jolt of his hips.

What…What was that?

The hands paused.

All the Autobots were gaping down at him, and, as if coordinated, grins spread, like a plague of manic glee through the ring of faceplates.

It was the most terrifying thing the jet-former has ever seen.

"He's ticklish down by his hips!"

"Get 'im!"

Cyclonus felt his optics widen, but it barely registered as his sensory grid lit up from the fingers worming into his seams. Frag it to the pits. It-It _tickled_! The jet-former bucked and roared in threats, but no one listened, determined to make him—to make him—

This was it.

He was going to die holding laughter in.

It would for sure burst an important fuel line somewhere, and that would kill him from energon loss.

This was _not_ how he'd imagined himself to have an honourable end.

Just as he was preparing backups of his will inside his central processors, amidst the snickering and slurred cheers came, floating, a small voice.

"Stop it!" The voice cried out. "Leave him alone!"

Cyclonus lifted his helm, toward the source of the sound.

A small frame pushed its way through the ocean of Autobots, and nestled right between the jet-former's thighs. A pair of tiny hands slapped down against his limbs, and the voice rang out like an alarm, a sharp blade spearing through the murmur of sound.

"These hips are _mine_, Primus-damnit!" Tailgate blared like a siren. "If _any_ of you _ever_ touch them again I swear to the Unmaker I'm gonna rewire all of you into _bombs_!"

The threat was empty, but still…

Cyclonus stared.

All the bots stared.

Whirl cleared his intakes, and the hands fell away, mechs getting back onto their peds and more than several swaying in their efforts. After much awkward glancing and muttering, the Autobots trickled away, probably stumbling back to the bar where they'd come from. Before long, only Tailgate was left, shoulders slumped and intakes hitching as he looked down at the floor, visor brimmed by tears.

"…I-I'm _so_ _sorry_, Cyclonus."

It was hard to believe that, mere moments before, the same voice had startled a whole crowd of battle-hardened Autobots into submission.

"I—I just…I just want to see you happy…" The little bot wiped his tears with the back of his hands. "But now…I messed up so bad I can only hope you'd forgive me…if you'll ever want anything to do with me again…"

Cyclonus looked at his guilt-ridden roommate, and let out a long, deep sigh.

He flopped back to the floor, helm clanging against it, and stared at the ceiling, arms spread out by his sides.

"…Let's go back to our hab-suite." He said, voice low, calm.

Tailgate sniffed. "…Okay." He said, and waited while the taller mech returned to his peds.

Cyclonus kept his pace slow as they walked, just so the little bot could easily catch up.

* * *

"_Frag_, mech, I'm sorry I acted like such an _idiot_." Skids grimaced, and looped an arm around Tailgate's shoulders. "If there's anything I can do to make it up to ya, lemme know, 'kay?"

"Okay." Tailgate answered, chipper, as he sipped on his glass of chilled, foamy highgrade.

"I'm _never_ drinking _again_." Pipes said as he took a swig from his cube. "After this one."

"Hey, blame the booze, but not the bar." Swerve spoke up behind the counter. "I'm not taking _any_ responsibility for you stupid afts." He took a sweep of the bots gathered just to make his point clear. His visor paused as he caught sight of a certain small, skinny bot.

"Hey, Rewind!" The bartender called, "Did'ya get any good shots?"

Rewind deflated.

"No," He grumbled, and sent a sideways glare at his endura. "_All_ I got was a frame full of a certain _some_one's big aft that refused to budge."

Chromedome shrugged. "You'll be thanking me when Cyclonus starts murdering bots in their recharge. At least it won't be _you_ on his hit-list."

"Speaking of Cyclonus, how _are_ things with him, Tailgate?" Rung asked, leaning forward as he craned his neck cables to see the disposal unit.

"Pretty good," Tailgate swayed happily in his seat, kicking his peds. "He didn't end up getting mad at me. When we got back to our hab-suite, he held me and told me he cared about me, and then we made sweet love under the light of the stars. It was _really_ romantic."

Silence fell over the bar. Bots glanced at each other, and squirmed on their stools.

"Anyways!" Swerve, once again, came to the rescue, "Glad things worked out for ya, mech. If you ever catch him smilin', you _gotta_ let us know, alright?"

"Alright," Tailgate placed his chin on his propped up hands, and let out a dreamy sigh, "But I don't even care anymore if he smiles. I know he's happy, 'cause he told me that as long as _I_'m happy, he's happy too."

As mechs groaned about the sappiness floating in the air, Rung chuckled, and shook his helm. He bid his friends farewell after finishing his drink, and hopped off the stool, heading toward the door. He scanned the bar on his way, and paused when his optics caught a flash of purple. Doubling back, he found Cyclonus sitting on a table in a shadowed corner, faceplate leaning against a palm as he watched a certain little blue bot's antics at the bar counter.

Tailgate was waving animatedly in the air as he sang a lilting, energetic tune in Old Cybertronian. He was teaching the bots around him, though no one could quite match up his articulation, processors clouded by highgrade as they were.

Cyclonus watched, and there was a small tilt on his lips.

Rung smiled, and turned away.

See?

All it took, really, was just Tailgate being himself.

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Bar jokes and "Bedazzled" credits available on my Tumblr post: (Usual URL) / post / 54069626171 / 150-followers-drabble-5-transformers-mtmte

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**Notes:** I have a bunch of drabbles on Tumblr, but since this one is actual fic-length, and people seem to like it, I've decided to post it here as well.

If you'd read this already, sorry for spamming your inboxes! If not, hope you enjoyed it. :)

A review would be very lovely.


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